After the Storm

by Sangeeta Bhargava

  Jatin looked at him and nodded gratefully.

  Later that night, Raven sat at his desk at home, before a pile of essays written by his students, but he could not concentrate. He could hear some noises outside, in the kitchen garden. Must be that fox rummaging through the rubbish again. He pulled the cord to ring the bell.

  ‘You called for me, sir?’ Digachand asked, as he came and stood behind him, head lowered.

  ‘Yes, Digachand. Go and see what that noise is outside, and if all is well, you can go home now.’

  ‘Yes, sir, good night to you, sir,’ replied Digachand as he performed an awkward salaam and left the room.

  Raven smiled as he heard Digachand cursing the fox. Then a yelp. He must have hit it with a stick … And now it was quiet again. Raven stared absent-mindedly at the framed photograph of his father that hung on the wall. But his thoughts were in the ashram. He was enraged by what they had done to that girl. He hated these Indian customs and practices. They held the Indian woman in its grip and crushed the life out of her; like a python tightening its coils round its victim until its bones get crushed. He knew he would not be able to rest in peace until he succeeded in getting her out of that hellhole.

  So engrossed was he in his thoughts that he did not hear Mother walk into the room.

  ‘Raven,’ she said.

  Raven turned around with a start. But he did not get up. His leg still hurt on days when he walked a lot, especially at the end of the day.

  ‘You’re still awake?’ She straightened Father’s picture, then averting her gaze asked, ‘Do you miss your father?’

  Raven was taken aback. It was an unwritten rule in their house – they never spoke about Father.

  ‘No, Mother, never.’

  Mother stood behind his chair and ruffled his hair lovingly. ‘Are you just saying that? Not to hurt me?’

  ‘No, Mother, really. I did miss him earlier, when I was little. But not any more. You’ve been for me all that he could never have been.’

  ‘But surely you must wonder sometimes … where he is …’

  Raven did not say anything. Yes, he used to wonder. And hear rumours. Some said his father had left for England for good. Some said he had settled down with an Indian girl and even had a secret family. How much truth there was in those stories, he could not tell.

  He looked at Mother. ‘But why this question? Suddenly?’

  ‘I was sorting all the things in the storeroom today. I came across some old pictures. Of our wedding. It suddenly dawned on me that it would have been exactly thirty years this year, if we were still together.’

  Raven got up and winced. He shouldn’t have walked so much today. He couldn’t have driven to the ashram as there were no roads, but he could have hired a palanquin or a rickshaw.

  ‘Are you all right? Is it hurting?’ Mother asked, lines creasing her brow as she spoke.

  ‘A little,’ Raven replied, accepting the support of her arm as he limped to his bed. He smiled fondly as she tucked the blankets around him.

  ‘It’s a miracle you can walk again, though,’ said Mother. ‘Most of the doctors had given up hope.’

  ‘Yes, Mother, we have much to be grateful for,’ replied Raven. He held her hand and kissed it gently. ‘We don’t need anyone else, Mother. Let’s forget what happened so many years ago, shall we?’

  ‘If only it were that easy,’ she sighed. ‘Goodnight, son,’ she whispered, kissing him on the forehead.

  Raven fluffed his soft, cold pillow and lay down. He watched mother as she switched off the light and slowly made her way to her room. She must get lonely sometimes. If only she would listen to him and marry again. But she was right. It was not easy to forget the past. And even if you did, it caught up with you when you least expected it.

  Monday morning. Mili sat in the refectory and took a sip of the disgusting tea. There was so much din in the room at this time of the day. The sound of cutlery on china, the scraping of chairs on the floor, footsteps going in and out of the room, tea being poured noisily out of kettles and the incessant chatter. She looked at Vicky, who was busy wiping the crumbs on her mouth with a serviette. The mountain air had done her good. She had not been ill even once since they had left Mohanagar.

  ‘Hurry up, Mili,’ Vicky said. ‘We can’t be late today. Ravan must be furious about the drawing of his cartoon on the board.’

  Mili took a huge bite of the dry toast and got up.

  ‘It’s not good to gobble your food like a wolf, you know,’ said Angel.

  ‘Not her again,’ she heard Vicky mutter as she grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the refectory.

  ‘Oh Lord Kishan, my Krishna, please save us from Raven Sir’s wrath,’ Mili mumbled as the two of them quietly slipped into the classroom with the rest of the girls and took their seats right at the back.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Mili as Vicky nudged her with her elbow. Vicky pointed to the blackboard. Oh dear, her cartoon was still there. Nobody had rubbed it off. The whole class’s eyes were glued on it and they were sniggering and whispering.

  Raven clapped his hands and a hush fell in the classroom. ‘Okay, class, I’m sure all of you have had a good look by now. I’m happy to announce that we have a talented artist in our midst. Would she do us the honour of standing up please?’

  Mili stood up. Her head was bowed, her cheeks and ears flamed, and she was chewing her thumbnail mercilessly.

  Vicky stood up as well. ‘Sir, it was I who instigated her to do it,’ she said.

  ‘Never mind that,’ Raven said, brushing her aside with a wave of his hand. ‘Girls, we now know who we need to turn to when we have to make posters for the annual play and school fete.’ Then picking up the duster he looked at Mili. ‘Now, if you can kindly clean the blackboard, we can commence our work. Today we shall be looking at the Renaissance poets …’

  Taking the duster from Raven’s hand, Mili stole a glance at him. He wasn’t smiling but his eyes seemed to mock her. She started rubbing the board vigorously, coughing slightly, choked by the chalk swirling in the air. Having rubbed off the last of the ten heads, she heaved a sigh of relief and slunk to her seat.

  ‘Malvika?’ said Raven, as he finished the lesson for the day.

  Oh no. She looked up from her book, at Raven. Lord Kishan, what did he want now? And to think she had been congratulating herself for getting away so lightly. But no. He was a sadist. He was going to mete out his punishment bit by bit.

  ‘Who is Ravan?’ he asked.

  Licking her lips, Mili stood up.

  Raven picked up a piece of chalk from the chalk box, broke it into two and looked at her again. ‘Malvika,’ he said staring at her. ‘I’m waiting for an answer.’

  ‘Sir, he was the ten-headed demon king of Lanka,’ said Mili. ‘He abducted Sita and her husband Lord Ram had to wage a war to win her back.’

  ‘So I’m a demon?’ Raven asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling at her sardonically.

  ‘No, sir,’ Mili protested. She looked at Vicky, her eyes imploring her to help her out.

  Vicky sprang to her feet. ‘No, sir, it was a spelling mistake. She meant Raven, not Ravan.’

  Raven smiled his cruel smile again. ‘All right, if you say so. Why don’t you two write a ten-page essay on this Ravan for homework? And I want it on my desk by tomorrow morning.’

  ‘But sir,’ Vicky wailed. ‘We also have to submit our history project tomorrow …’

  ‘I think Miss Agatha gave you that project two weeks back. You ought to have finished it by now,’ Raven replied as he left the classroom.

  The other girls began filing out of the room but Mili continued to sit at her desk. Pouting. Ten pages on Ravan. What was she going to write?

  Vicky exploded as soon as Raven was out of earshot. ‘What the devil! He is a demon. Ravan.’

  Mili looked around to see if anyone had heard, then giggled. ‘Yes,’ she whispered and giggled again.

  Mili leant against the pine tree as she watched th
e birds flying back to their nests. It was two and a half months since she and Vicky had left theirs. By now she had got used to life in a hostel. She had even got used to getting dressed and making her bed all by herself, without the help of Bhoomi. But she hadn’t yet got used to queuing up outside toilets every morning, drinking tea that smelt of kerosene oil – just like the tea sold on railway stations – taking showers in tiny bathrooms without any bathtubs and gulping down the inedible food. The only things that were the same as Mohanagar were the classes; they were boring.

  And the test tomorrow? She hadn’t even started studying for it. But she had better. Unless she wanted to be admonished again by that Raven Sir. She grinned as she remembered the image she had made of him on the blackboard some days back.

  ‘Doesn’t Raven Sir look too young to be a professor?’ she said aloud.

  ‘He is young,’ Vicky replied. ‘He’s only twenty-eight. I’ve heard he’s one of the youngest professors in the country.’

  ‘Only twenty-eight? Why, he’s just eleven years older than me. But the way he scolds us, he sounds older than Bauji’s grandfather.’

  Vicky chuckled. ‘Even the boys in MP College are scared of him. And he’s just five or six years older than most of them …’

  ‘Oh no,’ Mili exclaimed as she realised she had got pine gum all over her fingers.

  ‘You’ll need turpentine to get that off,’ Vicky said.

  Mili tried to rub it off with her thumb, but the harder she rubbed, the harder it stuck and turned brownish–black.

  ‘Vicky and Mili baba. You’ve got a visitor,’ Bahadur crowed from the veranda.

  ‘I wonder who it is,’ said Mili as they made their way to the parlour, still trying to get rid of the gum.

  ‘I hope it’s not Uncle George,’ said Vicky.

  It wasn’t. It was someone she had known all her life. She stopped at the door of the parlour as soon as she saw him – sitting under the oil painting of the three angels playing on a harp. Then with a yelp of ‘Uday, what a surprise,’ she sprinted across the room and hugged her brother. ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’

  ‘I was missing you, so came to give you a surprise,’ he said, tweaking her plait. He then turned to Vicky. ‘What happened? How come you’re so quiet? Has this place changed you?’

  Vicky laughed. ‘No, Uday. I was enjoying the reunion.’

  ‘You mean Bharat milap?’ Mili chuckled.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Vicky.

  ‘You’re as bad as Raven Sir. Don’t you know – in the Ramayana, when Lord Ram has been exiled and his brother Bharat comes to see him? And the two hug each other and shed many a tear?’

  ‘The only person I remember from the Ramayana is Suparnaka,’ said Vicky. ‘She too had a peculiar nose like Angel.’

  Mili started giggling. Then growing a little sober, she asked, ‘Uday, how are Ma and Bauji?’

  ‘They’re fine,’ Uday replied. ‘Bauji has sent his army to Burma to aid the British in the war. And Ma is busy with her saris and jewellery as usual.’

  ‘I miss my saris. I hate this uniform,’ Mili said, fiddling with the buttons on her cardigan.

  ‘Now listen,’ said Uday. ‘I want to take you two out for dinner.’

  ‘In that case, we’d better be off right away, before Angel appears and starts asking us whether we have signed the register or not,’ chortled Vicky.

  ‘So where should we dine?’ asked Uday.

  ‘Nataraj!’ piped Mili and Vicky in unison.

  Chatting excitedly, the three of them made their way down the hill. ‘Uday, it’s the best restaurant in Kishangarh. Wait till we tell Gurpreet and Jatin about it. They’ll be so jealous.’

  When Mili entered their room that night, she found Vicky looking out of the window. ‘What’s the matter, Vicky?’ she asked.

  Without turning around, Vicky whispered, ‘You’re lucky, Mili. You’ve got a brother.’

  Mili put an arm around her friend. ‘Uday is also your brother.’

  ‘Yes, I know. But it’s not the same,’ Vicky replied. ‘I’ve often wondered, what would it be like? To have an older brother? Or a dad? Would they be possessive? Or pamper and spoil me? And then …’ She stopped talking and turned around.

  Mili noticed her eyes were glistening.

  ‘And then when I got married, my dad would lead me to the altar. I would have the first dance with him.’

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to have the first dance with the bridegroom?’ asked Mili.

  ‘Never mind the groom. He’d have to wait.’

  ‘But I thought you didn’t want to marry? I thought you wanted to work like Mrs Nunes?’

  ‘Yes, that’s true. Let’s go to bed. We can’t be late for class tomorrow.’

  Mili nodded and slipped into bed. But she couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking of what Vicky had just said. She had never seen her so solemn before.

  Mili shot out of bed and looked at her watch. She was late again. She glanced at Vicky who had just finished brushing her teeth. Then she sat back on the bed and let out a sigh. ‘I don’t feel like going to class today. I feel exhausted, and the day has only just begun. And I haven’t even studied for the test.’

  Vicky came and sat down on the bed beside her. She clicked her fingers and said, ‘Let’s do one thing. Let’s play truant. Go shopping instead.’

  ‘How can we do that? We’ll get caught.’

  ‘We’ll have breakfast at Uncleji’s. And sneak off from there.’

  ‘And what’ll we say when Prof. Raven asks us tomorrow why we missed the test?’

  ‘We’ll say – we weren’t well.’

  ‘Both of us?’

  Vicky pushed back her glasses and thought hard. ‘I know. We’ll say we got an upset stomach. From something we ate. At the restaurant last night.’

  The mere mention of the restaurant reminded Mili of the scrumptious meal they had eaten with Uday. The potatoes cooked in cumin seeds and garnished with coriander leaves were so delicious. As were the fried brinjal, the cauliflowers cooked in tomato sauce enriched with cashew nuts and raisins. And the smell of mint chutney was so strong, it remained on her fingers for a long time after she had eaten.

  ‘But … do you think Raven Sir will believe us?’ she asked Vicky.

  ‘You think too much. Get dressed fast. And let’s go.’

  Mili grinned as she finished her breakfast and stepped out of the tuck shop. The thought of missing class and going shopping instead was exhilarating. She had never done anything like that before. But … who was that coming towards them? ‘Raven Sir,’ she wailed.

  ‘Why are you spoiling your mood? Talking about him?’ said Vicky.

  ‘It’s sir! He’s coming this way. What do we do?’

  ‘Oh, what the devil. We’re dead now!’

  ‘What are you two doing here?’ Raven asked. He looked at his watch. ‘School is going to start in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘S-sir, we were just heading that way,’ Vicky stammered.

  ‘Good,’ said Raven. He handed them a pile of papers. ‘In that case, take these papers to your classroom and put them on my desk. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’

  ‘There goes shopping,’ Vicky grumbled, as the two of them dragged themselves towards the classroom.

  ‘What about the test? I haven’t studied a word,’ said a very worried Mili.

  ‘We’ve got ten minutes. Let’s make the most of it,’ replied Vicky.

  Nose buried in her poetry book, Mili paced the corridors in front of the classroom. Which Romantic poet should she study? Shelley or Keats or Byron? Wasn’t Byron a pre-Raphaelite? Oh Lord Kishan, please help. She was so confused. She felt like the grasshopper that had wasted its entire summer singing and enjoying itself and now had to face the consequences. And why was that group of girls near the door chatting and laughing so loudly? How was she expected to focus?

  There was a sudden hush followed by a murmur. Mili looked up. Raven was walking towards the classroom. Mili
ran towards him, followed by Vicky.

  ‘Sir, please postpone the test. Please, sir. My brother was here yesterday and took us out for dinner. By the time we got back, we were too tired to study.’ She had said it in a single breath and now stood panting.

  ‘Yes, sir, please don’t give us a test today,’ clamoured the other students.

  ‘I don’t care how busy you’ve been,’ replied Prof. Raven. ‘If you can’t cope now, how are you going to cope in later life? When you will be working or married and taking care of a family?’

  Looking down glumly, Mili grimaced.

  Clapping his hands, Raven said, ‘Get inside the classroom, everyone. The bell is about to ring.’

  ‘Ravan, the demon,’ muttered Vicky as they took their seats at the back of the class, as usual.

  ‘Lord Kishan, where are you today?’ Mili mumbled as she read the questions on the question paper. She only knew two answers. She watched Vicky as she slyly opened a copy of their notes and wedged it between the two of them. Mili smiled as Vicky looked at her and winked. Now every few minutes she would glance at the notes and scribble the answer on her answer sheet.

  ‘What?’ she whispered as Vicky nudged her with her elbow. She looked up, straight into Raven’s eyes. Her brows knit together; she looked at Vicky, perplexed. Then not knowing what to do, she lowered her eyes and continued scribbling on her answer sheet.

  Raven barked, ‘Malvika Singh and Victoria Nunes, out!’

  Mili winced as she heard their names. Everyone else had stopped writing and was looking in their direction. Her ears had turned red and felt hot. She wished the earth would open up and consume her, like it had swallowed Sita when Lord Ram had denounced her. With eyes downcast she quietly gathered her books and slunk out of the classroom, preceded by Vicky.

  ‘Wait for me in my office,’ she heard Raven thunder after them. She closed her eyes and winced again.